


Spared no Expense

by Jennypen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Auction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennypen/pseuds/Jennypen
Summary: Everything's for sale, at the right price.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tiny ficlet inspired by this [amazing art](http://hardlynotnever.tumblr.com/post/150893872915/ayyyyy-still-feelin-sick-and-coughin-up-things).

“It’s dirty.” 

“It’s vintage.”

“They could have restored it.” 

“It’s been left as is - the genuine article. It has a sort of rustic charm to it - they don’t make them like this any more. Built to last.”

“How it’s lasted this long is beyond me.”

The world was muted - blurry and dark, formless. Slowly, light filtered through. The voices were muffled, but audible - a confusing cacophony of sound, like each voice was spoken twice. 

“One of a kind. Not seen for over ten thousand years - exquisite.”

A touch to his chin - soft, almost reverential, but enough to draw a hiss as it stung. The hand retracted quickly, to light titters. 

“Did I damage it?”

What were they talking about? What was happening? Indistinct shadows were vaguely visible in the brightening light. Were they people? Aliens? 

Sensation started to return before his sight, and with it, the vaguest whispers of memories - his armour was still on and uncomfortable with caked sweat, tighter than it should have been. Rough scratching on his neck - a length of cord dragging across his skin, pulled taut over his shoulders and ending at his wrists. Knees aching - he was kneeling, and had been for some time. A heavy, stinging weight in his ears - they’d pierced him, put a _tag_ on him-

Lance’s pupils cleared, and he stared with wide eyes around him. The use of his eyes returned to him, the bright white light of the room was all he could see for a moment, but he could still hear them - murmurs of curiosity, notes of wonder over deep tones of approval. 

“It is whole,” came a louder voice, and Lance snapped his attention to the source of the sound, spotting a tall, slender alien in a sweeping, elegant brocaded robe, festooned with glittering jewelry. Its bright greenish skin was almost glowing in the bright light, and what passed for a face was smiling. The alien had been there earlier today when they’d... when they’d tagged him. At the time Lance had been too drugged and woozy to take in anything around him, but he was awake and startled sober now.

“Please, my dearest friends,” the alien boomed in a confident, easy voice, “I hope you have been enjoying the festivities this evening.” There was a rumble of agreement. “I think, however, now that our guest is finally with us, it is finally time for the main event.” 

Outright cheering. Lance flinched, finally able to make out a crowd of beings of all shapes and sizes, but no familiar faces - no species they’d encountered yet, especially no Galra. That was both curious and a relief - with the sphere of Galran influence and control, it seemed impossible that any operation this multifaceted could even exist, but that also meant he was far outside of anywhere that the rest of Voltron knew.

Rescue was unlikely. Lance was on his own.

“I trust you have all enjoyed your catalogues for the evening, but if you’ll indulge me - tonight, I present for you... a Paladin of Voltron.”

There was thunderous applause and delighted cheers. Lance felt ice all the way down his spine as he pieced together the comments, the tag and the showmanship. He began shaking, eyes blown wide with burgeoning terror.

“Captured just two cycles ago, you will note from the distinctive armour that this is of course the legendary Blue Paladin - a true prize for any one of you. Mythology tells us that the Blue Paladins of old were empathic, playing a supportive role designed to hold the Voltron together and overcome difficulty. Their connection with their fellow Paladin and Lion was unsurpassed. This really is the rarest of the rare.”

“How do we know it is genuine? Voltron is supposed to be a fairytale,” a high voice in the audience asked. There were soft whispers of agreement. If the question phased the presenting alien, they did not show it.

“A fair question.” There was a shuffling, the alien moved towards him, leaning down until it was able to reach Lance with an outstretched arm. Unable to resist, the alien touched the bottom of Lance’s chin, lifting it slightly. “Mm, beautiful. And so pliant.” It carried on, leaning quite close. It turned Lance sideways so that hands were just about visible to the audience - _fuck_ , that hurt - and a familiar weight was placed into one hand.

Fogged and frightened as his mind was, Lance was unable to stop the automatic response; as soon as his bayard touched his hand, it transformed instantly into the shape of his rifle. It was quickly snatched away and reverted, but the proof was there. There was some awestruck chatter, and the hosting alien recovered itself.

“I hope there is no remaining doubt as to its authenticity. Let us not waste time - the bidding shall start at 12 million.”

There was an indignant curse of rage before bidding exploded - too fast for Lance’s addled mind to follow. He tried to see who said what, but they were clamouring closer, voices rising, louder and louder.

“98 million! No-“ the bidding continued, snatches of higher meaningless numbers every few seconds. It was chaos - but eventually slowed to several competing bids.

“And 720 million from the bid here,” the alien said, indicating with a sweep of his arms. There was increasing quiet as purses ran empty, disappointed sighs audible. To Lance, they had gone from a pack of dogs to a class of unruly students suddenly told off. “Am I bid any further?”

“5 billion.” There was a cold, robotically-modulated voice from the rear. All eyes in the crowd turned to the new sound, and there was a ripple of panic passed through the crowd. Lance couldn’t see, all he could make out was a dark shape, just a little further-

“5 billion. You honour us with your generosity and impress with your strength, my Lord. I feel that will be satisfactory for the evening. We thank you for your custom - please, participate in the remaining auctions on floors four to seven.” It clicked its fingers, and there were two sets of hands underneath Lance’s arms, ushering him to the rear of the stage.

He was pushed into a room, a cloth gag bound rapidly around his mouth. Kneeling again with a shove of his shoulders, Lance searched desperately for an exit but could not see one, merely the door they’d entered through, which slid open to admit the alien host.

“...appreciate your patronage and good taste. My assistant will sort out the particulars of payment and delivery.”

“I will take delivery now.” The voice - deep, hard, _known_ , as a hulking dark mass strode into the room behind the simpering alien auctioneer. 

Lance stared up with weeping eyes at his new owner, reality tilting and spinning around him.

“Of course, Emperor Zarkon.”


End file.
